


Stand By You

by thecryoftheseagulls



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Basically Garrett is having none of your shit Anders, Chantry Boom, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, This is a 'let me love youuu Anders' fic, rebel mage boyfriends 2kforever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental/pseuds/accidental">accidental</a>, who asked for 'Garrett confronting Anders, because he knows Anders is keeping something from him, maybe he’s been digging around and has pretty much worked out what’s going on. Obviously Anders doesn’t want to involve him, but Hawke is adamant - he will stand by Anders and help and support him in anything he does.'</p><p>Title is taken from Rachel Platten's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-urmcz2RSwI">Stand By You</a>, which is my newest favorite Hawke x Anders song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand By You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accidental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental/gifts).



It was entirely possible Garrett Hawke would wear a hole through the plush Orlesian carpet his mother had carefully chosen three years before by the time the day was out. He had been pacing the length and breadth of his study since Anders had left him this morning, pausing only to consider the books and notes he'd left sprawled across his desk again every so often. 

The recipe for Qunari gaatlok was a closely guarded secret and despite how closely he had worked with the Arishok before the uprising, Garrett had never had the faintest idea what the ingredients were, or how they might have differed from the recipe for poison which that half-crazed elf had stolen instead. But that did not mean he didn't know some of the basics of explosives - Tomwise had taught him a lot about grenades and his craftsmanship was far from rudimentary these days. The ingredients Anders had sent him after – sela petrae and drakestone, really? as if anyone could imbibe either of those safely - had been nothing like any potion his lover had taught him to make over the years, or any his father had taught him as a child, and it wasn't that Garrett was suspicious by nature, especially of Anders, but... the man had been pushing him away for months and Garrett grew weary of it. Separating himself and Justice? The spirit was as much a part of Anders as his own soul anymore, and Garrett loved him, taciturn, unyielding, strong, _good_ creature that he was nearly as much as he loved Anders himself. 

He was not a fool. It was some kind of explosive - books on the theory of gaatlok powder were not so hard to find, not with Varric’s connections and his money, especially not when Anders had already told him this ‘potion’ was Tevinter in origin– and he had found those two ingredients in several separate volumes. None of the theoretical mixtures had ever been proven to actually work, but apparently Anders had found the way. 

_Would you tell the world, the knight-commander, that you love an apostate and would stand by him?_

_It still surprises me how much you risk for my sake._

_There will be war soon. I wish I could promise to keep you safe._

_I promise, whatever happens: it’s on my head. It will not come back on you._

Anders’ words swam through his head as he paced. In bed last night, Anders’ head on his shoulder, his golden hair fanned out behind his head, Anders had combed his fingers through the dark hair down Garrett’s chest and whispered, “There is one more thing I need of you, my love. Bring me lunch tomorrow and we can speak of it?”

And Garrett had said, "Anything, Anders. You know I would stand by you in anything.” All Anders had done was given him this sad sort of smile, like he knew better. 

Well, fuck that.

He plucked the basket Orana had packed him, food enough for two, from the desk, grabbed up his staff from where it leaned beside the door, and made his way into the cellars. 

***

He passed Varric on his way into the clinic.

“Hawke…” Varric snagged his sleeve. “Blondie, is he…He tried to give me his mother’s pillow, Hawke.”

Garrett closed his eyes. He knew – he knew it was bad, but if Anders was making his farewells to the rest of their group of friends, their _family_ – it was worse than he thought. There was this fear, niggling at the back of his mind, whispering, whispering, and it had been only getting louder the longer this went on. _He’s going to martyr himself, the Maker-damned ridiculous fool._ Garrett shoved it away violently, took the thought and actually visualized shoving it in a locked chest that not even Varric or Isabela or Sebastian would be able to pick.

He squeezed Varric’s broad shoulder and offered a smaller version of his patent Hawke grin. “I know, Varric. I’m gonna talk to him.” He wiggled the basket of food, as if for emphasis.

The look Varric gave him was less than reassured, but Garrett was already moving inside.

***

“I must get inside the Chantry, without being seen,” Anders explained, perched on one corner of his desk, knee jiggling. He crumbled a block of cheese on his plate with his long fingers without eating any of it.

Garrett had shooed the last of the patients, along with Anders’ helpers, out the door when he’d arrived, as he’d taken to doing whenever he ventured down to take Anders food. It was the only way to be certain he actually rested and ate, and now afforded them a modicum of privacy with the doors locked and lantern doused. 

“So it is to be the Chantry, then,” Garrett said quietly, setting his own plate of food aside on the cot beside him. He hummed. Yes, that was – that was good. Elthina had been warned away already, and it was her own damn fault she refused to leave the city, the more because she refused to act at all to put a stop to the war that was brewing. If they attacked the Gallows, mages could die. And the templar hall – that would be satisfying, but not effective. It was the Chantry that held the templar leash, even if Elthina pretended otherwise. It was Chantry dogma that taught the templars hate – _they_ were the ones who taught that mages were cursed by the Maker, that they were not _people_. Yes. The destruction of the Chantry would be powerfully symbolic. It would be cutting off the head of the snake; it would upset the balance of power, and that was what was ultimately needed. The Chantry ruled through fear. If they could prove the Chantry was not all-powerful and infallible, that would open them up to doubt, and with doubt, there could be change. 

“Yes,” Garrett breathed.

“…I’m sorry?” Anders was pale.

Garrett stood, crossed to him. “The explosive mixture we’ve gathered, we’re going to plant it in the Chantry.”

“No…no…that’s not…” Anders dropped his plate. The metal clattered against the floor, sending bits of cheese and the untouched apple rolling, and he turned wild eyes on Garrett’s face. Garrett could feel him shaking as he wrapped muscled arms around him, loosely, lifted a hand to Anders’ face. “Garrett…” His name was a warning in Anders’ mouth, a plea. 

“It’s a good plan,” Garrett said softly. “What do you need me to do?”

Anders wrenched himself out of Garrett’s arms and put some distance between them, hugging himself, shaking his head. “You can’t – I told you I lied about the potion, Garrett, but that was _not_ an invitation for you to interfere. I don’t know how you found out – but I-I won’t allow you to get involved. I _won’t_.” 

“That’s not your decision to make,” Garrett said, carefully, watching him, leaning back against the desk where Anders had just stood.

“The Void it isn’t! You are the most important thing in my life. I will not allow you to be defamed by what must be done.”

“You think I care about my _reputation_?” Garrett raked his fingers through black curls and stared at him, incredulous.

“I _care_ about your _life_ , Garrett! This will be a stain on everything you’ve built in this city, on your character, on your good name. I will take the blame, I will take the burden, for the mages, for our freedom, for what is right and just, but I cannot – I will not take you down with me.” Anders paced, his eyes limned with blue. Justice was ever at the forefront these days, as the conflict between mages and templars came to a boiling point, and Garrett could see now, where he hadn’t in the years before, how Anders could say they were truly one, not just two consciousnesses sharing a body and a purpose. He could hear Justice in Anders’ words, but Anders’ wants and fears were there too, twining together, Justice’s determination and Anders’ feelings of inadequacy mixed in with both their rage.

“Love,” Garrett straightened and went to him slowly. “Love, look at me.” Anders drew in a ragged breath and turned, but he didn’t lift his head to look him in the eyes, not yet. 

Garrett took his chin in calloused fingers and gently tipped it up till Anders couldn’t avoid his gaze, and the blue leached away, leaving Anders’ looking pale and afraid and so, so weary.

“Garrett, please,” he tried once more, his voice breaking on the please. 

“I made you a promise, Anders. Do you remember? You asked me if I would stand by you, and I said – I _swore_ – through anything, till the day we die. You keep acting like you and Justice are some kind of – some kind of stain on my life, but the truth is I would have hid in the shadows without you; I would have been too _afraid_ , too selfish, to help any of our fellow mages in any lasting way. You make me better. You make me believe in the justice of our cause, and I would – I would do anything for you, love. Anything. I will stand by you now, whether you want me to or not, because you’re _right_. This cannot go on. The Divine will send an Exalted March and our people will die, unless we act. Unless we stop it.” 

Anders didn’t answer him for a long time, just stared at him, honey-brown eyes glassy with unshed tears. His hands came up to fist in the front of Garrett’s robes and he just…held on.

“I had this whole speech prepared,” he finally said, voice wrecked with emotion. “About how some things matter more than my life, more than either of us. Apologies for hurting you, because that seems to be the only thing I do anymore.”

“You’re right, love,” Garrett gripped his thin wrists. “This is war. We cannot be weakened by our feelings – by our fear.”

And it was fear that filled him, choked him, the whisper _martyr martyr martyr martyr_ ricocheting around the inside of his skull, because losing Anders, even to this, the most worthy death he could think of – that was his worst fear come to life. But it would not be his worst if Anders would let him throw himself into this battle too. Together – that, that would be all right. If they were together. 

“I suppose it was hypocritical of me,” Anders said, lips quirking just barely at the corner with humor. “Because I was putting _your_ life ahead of this, wasn’t I?” 

Garrett huffed a small laugh back at him, his thumbs tracing along the soft skin stretched taut over bone along Anders’ wrists. 

“Garrett.” Anders looked up through his lashes at him, fingers tightening in his robes. “I can’t lose you.”

“Let me help you, then. Because I can’t lose you either, Anders. I can’t…” Garrett choked on the swell of emotion in his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t continue.

“All right.” Anders read something in his face, then, some kind of shared agony, and his quiet agreement broke through the whispers still bouncing around in Garrett’s head. “Yes. All right, love.” He cupped the back of Garrett’s head and pulled him down till their foreheads met.

“So we do this together?” Garrett wet his lips. “Will you – will you promise me?”

“Together,” Anders agreed. “I swear.”


End file.
